Choices of Fate
by SoManyAnchors
Summary: As a young girl who already has her future mapped out, Faye Lowery is dead-set on seeing it through. But, sometimes, life blindsides you with the most difficult decisions. And, sometimes, when it comes to these decisions, we don't really get a say - sometimes, Fate makes the choice for us.
1. Prologue - One Chance

**|Faye|**

Whether you have a definitive path, or not, we all have places to go, people to meet, and feelings to feel. Love, friendship, and happiness are the luck you get given to you. However, what you do with them is the luck you make for yourself.

We all have a 'meant-to-be,' despite the fact if we believe in Fate, destiny, or nothing at all.

Do we decide our 'meant-to-be', or do we get it chosen for us? Do we get more than one option?

If we do, what if we go through them all and then decide the first one is the best option; do we get a second chance?

No. There are no second chances in life, no rewind button. You don't get a do-over, so if you want something you have to run; smash into it and grab it with everything you have. You have to take it and hold tightly, before it's too late.

One life. One chance. One love.

* * *

**A/N**: Hi, guys and gals! :)

I've decided to come back to this story, and _Exhale_, simply because I miss the wolf pack, and I miss my OCs! I'm coming back and editing what I've written, as well as continuing with my OC/Wolf stories.

I think I know where I want this story to go now, so my updates should be more frequent (only on weekends, though!).

Hope you all are well, and that you're still willing to follow Faye's story!

-xoxo.

**P.S. **This prologue is new. I felt like it was needed, so voila! Hope you enjoy, and I also hope to hear from you all!


	2. Chapter 1 - Not Part of the Plan

**|Faye|**

When I'm running I can _almost _feel my dad at my side.

He's been gone for nearly six years, but every time I lace up and slap sole to pavement I feel like he's right there. I can almost hear him talking about my inner strength and how I'll be a world-class athlete when I grow up. That's part of why I love to run - why I'm running right now, pushing myself a little harder than usual to win this race.

This isn't just _any _race, mind you - it's the final race of the USC cross-country summer camp. Every winner of this race for the last seven years has wound up with a full scholarship offer. Since USC is the _only_college I've ever considered attending, I plan on winning this race.

With the nearest runner almost fifty yards back, I'm not worried.

The finish line comes into sight. Dozens of people are waiting - coaches and trainers from the camp, campers who competed in the shorter races, parents, and friends. As I get closer, I see Kit and Nola - my two best friends - cheering like crazy. They've never missed _one _of my races.

I'm closing in on thirty yards.

Twenty yards.

Victory is guaranteed. I pull up a little bit, not really slowing down but relaxing enough to let my body begin its recovery.

That's when I see my mother.

She's standing with Kit and Nola, smiling like I've never seen her smile before - at least, not in the last six years.

_Why is she here?_

It's not that my mom doesn't come to see my races, but she wasn't supposed to be at this one. She's supposed to be up in La Push, Washington, getting to know my father's extended family at a gigantic family reunion while I'm at cross-country camp. Trust me, the choice between running eight hours a day and spending the weekend with creepy cousin Kevin was _not _a hard decision. Meeting him once was _more _than enough.

I wonder why she's home two days early.

Then, suddenly, I'm across the finish line and everyone surrounds me, cheering and congratulating me. Kit and Nola push through the crowd and pull me into a group hug.

"You're such a star!" Kit shouts. Everyone is so loud I can barely hear her.

"Is there anything you _can't _do?" Nola gushes. "You just beat the best in the country!"

"You _are _the best in the country!" Kit enthuses, amending our friend's remark.

I just smile. _Could a girl ask for better friends?_

The next runner crosses the finish line, and some of the crowd goes to offer her their congratulations. Now that I'm not fully surrounded, I see Coach Davis waiting just off to the side, no doubt wanting to have a word with me. Since he's my ticket to USC, I pry myself away from the girls before jogging over to the burly man.

"Hey, Coach," I greet him, my breathing starting to return to normal.

"Congratulations, Faye," he says in a gruff tone, clapping me heartily on the back. I try not to let him show that he nearly knocks the wind out of my lungs. "I've never seen anyone win so decisively. Or so easily." He shakes his head, like he can't figure out how I did it.

"Thanks, sir." My cheeks grow warm. Sure, I've been told my whole life that I have a special talent for running - from my dad, my mom, my friends - but it feels a lot more real coming from the head coach of the USC cross-country team.

There's even a rumor going around the circuit that he'll be coach the next Olympic team.

"I'm putting you at at the top of the list for next year," he says. "If you keep up with your classes, and continue to perform well in races, the scholarship is yours."

"Wow, I...," I trail off, at a loss for words, shaking my head. I'm beyond excited to be within reach of everything I've ever wanted. "Thanks, Coach. I won't let you down."

Then he's gone, off to talk to the other runners who are now piling across the finish line. Turning, I look for Mom. She's right behind me, still smiling, and I dive into her arm.

"Mom!" I cry as she pulls me into a hug. "I thought you weren't coming back until Tuesday."

She squeezes me tightly. "We decided to come back early."

"'We'?" I echo, leaning back to look at her.

Mom blushes - _actually _blushes, with pink cheeks and sheepish smile - and releases me. She reached out her hand to the side, like she's grabbing for something. I stare blankly as another, clearly male, hand meets hers.

"Faye," she says, her voice full of girlish excitement, "there's someone I want you to meet."

My heart plummets. I suddenly have a _very _bad feeling about what she's going to say. All the signs are there: blushes, smiles, and a male hand. But still, I shouldn't jump to conclusions. I mean, my mother is just_not _the type to date. She's..._Mom._

She spends her Friday nights either watching sappy romance movies with me, or poring over client files from her therapy practice. All she cares about is me and her work. In that order. She doesn't have time for guys... _Right?_

The man connected to the male hand steps up to Mom's side.

"Faye, _this _is Rafe," she introduces him with more awe in her voice than I've ever heard before.

He's not a bad-looking guy, if you like the older type with dark hair that's salt-and-peppering at the temples. His skin is coppery in color (much like my father's), making his smile much brighter in contrast. In fact, he looks like a genuinely nice guy. So, really, I would probably like him if not for the fact that he's practically glued to my mother's side.

"He and I are..." Mom giggles girlishly, and I can't help but wonder if I'm in some sort of alternate reality. "We're going to be married."

"_What?_" I all but demand.

"A pleasure to meet you, Faye," Rafe says affably, releasing Mom's hand and reaching out to shake mine.

I can only stare at it. _This can't be happening. _Of course I want to see my mother happy - she _deserves _that much after losing the man she loved - but how can she go off to Washington and come back six days later with a _fiance_?

_How mature is that?_

""You're _what_?" I repeat.

When Rafe sees I'm not about to shake his hand, he puts an arm around Mom's shoulder. She practically melts into his side. What surprises the most, though, is the fact that Rafe doesn't seem abashed by my response to him. He just continues smiling at me patiently.

"We're getting married," she says again, bubbling over with excitement. "The wedding will be in La Push, in December, but we're having a civil ceremony at City Hall next weekend so everyone we love can be there."

"Next weekend?" I am so shocked I almost don't realize the bigger implication. _"Wait..._ How can you get married out of state in December? I'll be in school."

Mom slips her arm around Rafe's waist, like she needs to get even closer to him. Next she'll be sliding her hand into the back pocket of his pants. _No girl _should have to watch her mother revert to teenage behavior.

"That's the most exciting part!" Mom says, her voice edging on near-hysteria with excitement. I know instantly that I'm _not _going to like what she says. "We're moving to Washington!"

* * *

"Be reasonable, Faye," Mom says tenderly, as if that's suddenly going to make me okay with all of this. "This isn't the end of the world, you know."

"Isn't it?" I challenge, shoving the contents of my dresser drawer into my duffel bag, before whirling around and glaring at my mother. She's currently sitting on the twin bed in the dorm room that has been my home for the last six weeks. Twenty minutes ago, my life was perfect - right on track, even.

Now, I'm just supposed to pack up my life in a few cardboard boxes, and move all the way across the country so that my mother can shack up with some guy she's only known for a _week_?

_Sounds like the end of the world to me._

Right now, it's painfully obvious which one of us has their head screwed on straight.

"I know you were looking forward to spending your senior year here at home," she says, entering therapist mode. "But I think that the move will be good for you. Broaden your horizons."

"I don't need 'broader horizons,'" I respond curtly, grabbing the pillow off my bed and tugging at my striped pillowcase.

"Honey, you've lived anywhere but South Carolina. You've gone to school with the same kids your entire life." She places her hand on my shoulder when I lean past her to grab my blanket. "I worry that when you go off to USC next year, you'll be in for a shock."

"But I _won't_," I insist. "Kit and Nola will be there."

"So will thousands of other students from across the country."

"Well, that doesn't mean I need to be from 'across the country,' too." I turn away from Mom, quickly folding my blanket and drop it on top of my duffel. All my things are packed, but I'm not ready to go yet. Not when I know _he's _out there, somewhere. Not when my whole world is being pulled out from under me.

"Come," she says quietly. "Sit down."

I look over my shoulder to see my mother patting the spot next to her on the mattress.

I tell myself to remain calm. This is still Mom, after all. She's usually very reasonable, maybe she'll listen to my argument. Prepared to discuss this like adults, I plop down next to her.

"Mom," I say, trying to sound as mature as possible, "there _has _to be some other way. Can't he move here?"

"No," she says with a sad laugh, "he definitely can't."

"Why not?" I ask. "Is he wanted by the law, or something?"

My mother gives me an of-course-not look. "His work demands he remain in La Push."

_Work! There's something I can use._

"What about _your _work? Your practice?" I inch closer. "Won't you miss your daily dose of crazies?" Not a PC term, but I'm operating in desperation mode.

"Yes. I will."

"Then why are you-?"

She looks me straight in the eye and says, "Because I love him, Faye."

For what feels like forever, we just stare at each other.

"Well, I don't see why I have to do," I say. "I can just stay with Aunt Vivian and finish off my year-"

"Absolutely not," Mom interrupts. "I love my younger sister, but she is in _no _position to care for you for an entire year. She's nowhere near mature enough."

"I know, but-"

"You're _my _baby girl." Her voice is determined. "I refuse to lose you a year early."

_Great, Mom has separation anxiety, so I have to leave the state._

"Are you _trying _to ruin my life?" I demand, jumping up and pacing back and forth on the bare linoleum floor. "What, was everything going too smoothly for me? Worried that I didn't have enough teen angst to work with? That I wouldn't need therapy when I hit thirty?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

_"Me?_ I'm not the one who flew off to a family reunion and came back with a fiance - wait, he's not family is he? Because that would be _gross_, Mom."

_"Faye."_ Her voice is laced with warning, but I'm building up steam.

"I've heard about these spur-of-the-moment marriages. Are you _sure _he's just not using you?"

"Enough!" my mother bellows out.

I stop cold and stare at her. Therapist Mom does _not _shout. _I'm in trouble._

"Rafe and I love each other." She stands up, tucks my blanket underneath her arm, and hangs the strap on my duffel over my shoulder. "We _will _be married next weekend. He _will_ return to Washington. At the end of the month, you and I _will_ be moving to La Push."

_Fuck my life._

* * *

**A/N**: This chapter has been edited! :) While it's still possible I have over-looked some grammatical errors and such, I hope that this is an improvement compared to the one before it.

Hope to hear from you all!

-Dev.


	3. Chapter 2 - Into The Mist

**|Faye|**

The faint outline of my face reflects off the glass as I stare out the window of Rafe's pewter Jaguar. The cold outside seems to seep through my layers of clothing, and reach clear to my bones. My breath fogs up the glass, and I wipe it with a finger and continue to watch the scenery flash by.

The sky is dramatic, with enormous swirling dark clouds. Everything actually _looks _cold, despite the fact that it's early September and everything is covered in lush, green vegetation. Maybe it's because I'm from South Carolina, and I'm used to the sultry weather there. I already miss it, too. The constant warm sea breeze, the palm trees and ancient oaks draped in moss, the old plantations. _Funny how I took all that for granted when I lived there. _Now that I don't have it anymore, I want it all back.

Like I want my father back. He died the week after my eleventh birthday and it's just been Mom and me for the past six years. _Until now._

"Oh, honey! Will you just look at this scenery!" my mother says excitedly, and points out the window. "Everything is _so _green! It's beautiful!"

I don't answer, because '_honey' _is an endearment reserved for Rafe now (I've outright refused to refer to him as my 'stepdad'). He chuckles and lightly grazes Mom's cheek with the knuckles on his right hand. I bet he doesn't find the forest as beautiful as my mother does. Neither turns to ask for my opinion.

Pulling my legs up, I lean my head against the window and close my eyes, trying to make sense of how my life has drastically changed in the short span of a _month. _During the past four weeks, I've somehow managed to condense all of my life into a few cardboard boxes and say goodbye to two of the most important people in my life: Kit and Nola. Those two girls have been my best friends since the first day of Kindergarten - when Nola gave Kit and me hemp friendship bracelets and Kit taught me how to tie my shoes the _cool _way. We've been inseparable for the last twelve years, and now there's over a thousand miles between us.

_How can I make it through my senior year without them?_

I rest my cheek against the cool glass, deciding to scroll through the songs on my iPod to occupy my thoughts. I'm feeling a little old-school today, so Madonna's _Material Girl _plays though the earbuds as I continue to stare out at the wispy ribbons of mist.

I still enjoy many things that my father and I once shared, especially books, movies, and music. Dad started me on reading old mysteries, like _Nancy Drew _and the _Hardy Boys_, which I still love. And, because of Dad, I'm one serious '80s music fangirl. Dad always claimed I was an '80s girl trapped in a twenty-first-century body. AC/DC, Whitesnake, Cyndi Lauper, Madonna - you name it.

I shift in the seat and tug the sleeves of my oversized sweatshirt down over my hands. A light rain has started to fall from the charcoal sky. It seems even darker than before.

In the driver's seat, Rafe announces, not so much to me, but aloud, that we are 'very close.' Close to where, I can't be sure. We're currently speeding down a two-lane road, flanked by the encroaching forest on either side of us. However, every now and again, there is a break in the trees that reveals homes. Most of them are single-story houses, though every one just seems more welcoming than the one before it. It's odd, really.

Eventually, we come upon an assortment of businesses that line both sids of the road. This, I assume, is the town of La Push. There isn't much, that's for sure, but I can't help but want to visit every store and restaurant. _This_ is were my father grew up, and now I get to feel more close to him than ever by living in the home of his childhood.

When I was little, my father would bring my mother and me up here for two weeks out of every summer. But the trips stopped when I was ten, right before Dad got sick, so I don't have that much of a memory of this place anymore. Little snippets I can vaguely recall - like my father playing in the sand with me at First Beach, or the three of us sharing ice-cream by a bonfire - but nothing more. Maybe coming back here now will help to resurface some of those lost memories. _One can only hope._

"There's the high school," Rafe says, directing his comment to me, and gesturing to the left. "They've done some renovations since I've graduated, of course, but the layout is still the same."

I look in the direction that Rafe points, and I have to say that I'm pleasantly surprised by what I see. The Quileute school isn't at all what I've been expecting - like a clapboard building, for example. It's a two-story, modern-looking building with brick siding and a blue sign out by the road that says in bold, black lettering:

**La Push High School**:  
_**Home of the Timberwolves**_

"They even have a track team, Faye," Rafe adds, as if that will sweeten the deal. "I know the coach, personally. So, if you need help with anything-"

"No, thanks," I interject sharply, my eyes narrowing into slits as I glare at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

My mother may be fooled by Rafe's 'nice guy' act, but I refuse to let the wool be pulled over my eyes. He's just trying to get in to my good graces, so that he and my mother will have no unwarranted problems. _Tough luck. _Besides, he and I haven't exactly clicked yet. With me, he's usually abrupt, and not very conversational. He has no kids himself, so maybe he just doesn't get teenagers. My mother has picked up on the chill between me and Rafe, but she doesn't know what to do about it.

But I refuse to put her in a position where she feels like she has to choose between the two of us. I've seen firsthand how the two interact with each other, and their feelings are genuine. I can't deny the look of complete adoration Rafe's face reveals when he's gazing at my mother when she isn't looking at him, or how my mother has started back to humming again in the mornings while starting her daily routine. Normally, she has to have, at the very least, two mugs of coffee before she can even function.

Both of them claim that it must have been Fate that led them together. Mom's rental car died from lack of gas, Rafe pulled over and siphoned some of his own gas for her, and then they went for lunch because she wanted to pay him back. The rest of the details are sort of a blur, to me, because my mother was _very_ detailed as she regaled me with the Hallmark Moment.

Though, if I'm being honest, I'm surprised it took my mom as long as it has to find someone else. But my father is a pretty hard act to follow.

With my father being Quileute, I've gotten a lot of his physical traits. My hair is as straight as hay, though it isn't black in color – it's more of a dark-chocolate. My skin is olive-toned, my eyes a deep hazel, and my features softer. I don't have a strong nose, like my father's; nor do I have his angular bone structure. Those are the only two tells that reveal I'm only _half-_Quileute.

We're passing a sign that says **First Beach**, and Rafe points down a side road.

"That track will take you directly down to the beach. It's the nearest one to us on this side of the reservation," he explains. He glances at me in the rearview mirror. "Your mom tells me you love beach runs, Faye. It's smaller than what you're used to, but I'm sure it'll do."

I pinned a pointed glare on the back of my mother's head. Does she not realize that these are trade secrets and she's revealing them to the _enemy? _Nevertheless, beach runs are kind of my weakness.

I heave a sigh and stare down the path but all I see are tall, thick pines half-swalloed up by the mist. _Are there wolves running through the forest?_

"It looks pretty dark in there," Mom remarks wearily.

"Mmm," Rafe hums in agreement. "But once you get closer to the shorefront, it opens up to the sea."

Mom turns around to peer at me. Her hazel eyes, the very same ones I've inherited, are wide. "Isn't this all so exciting, Faye? We'll have to go to the beach together. It's been so _long _since we've been there."

I smile at that. It's hard not to smile at her enthusiasm. "We can even go for a run, huh, Mom?"

"Absolutely." She grins and turns back around.

Now we're on a narrow gravel road lined with thick brush and tall pines. _When did we leave the main road?_ The Jaguar's tires crunch against the rock, causing the car to jostle a little. The mist has grown so heavy that visibility can't be more than a few feet in some places. It's like looking through chowder.

"Almost there, love," Rafe murmurs to Mom, lacing his fingers through hers. _Ugh._

Not long after, the trees ends abruptly, bringing the house into view across a vast, manicured front lawn. The white, two-story home is big, though not enormous, with a lot of windows flanked by black shutters. This is definitely one of the nicer houses I've seen so far since we've been in La Push, and I can't believe that _I'll _be living in it for the next nine months.

Of course, Rafe owns a software company based down in Seattle, so that explains the European sports car and over-the-top house.

He brings the car to a smooth stop and, as soon as he puts it in park, I grab my the strap of my duffel bag and shoulder it; open the door, and slide out. It's stopped raining. The icy wind stings my cheeks, and I feel my body shiver in response. Mist slips through the air in front of my face and I drag my hand through it and watch it swish through my fingers. The mist is almost _alive_, the way it seems to be constantly shifting, drifting.

The air smells clean and sweet, a mixture of something that reminds me of clover with the salty tang of the sea - an odd striking contrast to the gloomy atmosphere. Other than the rustling of the leaves, and the occasional caw of a bird, everything is eerily still. If I strain my ears, I can hear the sea bashing against the base of the rocky cliffs.

"What do you think, Jules?" Rafe asks Mom, and the two stand in front of me while taking in the view. The man is tall, especially compared to Mom's five-five status. And I'm two inches taller than her. Rafe gestures toward the trees surrounding us. "I know these woods like the back of my hand. Maybe we can all go for a walk together, and I could show you some of my favorite spots." A lighthearted smile spreads across his face, and it makes me wish he could be more like this all the time.

"Rafe, it's all _amazing_," Mom coos, wrapping her arms around his torso.

Rafe hugs my mother fiercely. "I'm glad you're here with me. My very own family." He gives me a quick, uncomfortable glance, and I suddenly feel like I'm intruding. "You too, Faye." I bite my lip and stick my hands in my pockets. Rafe tries to break the awkward moment. "Right," he murmurs, clearing his throat. "You two should go in and get settled. I can introduce you to the staff tomorrow."

I blanch, eyeing my mother uncertainly. She only shrugs, though I can clearly see that she's a little unsettled by the idea of having people wait after her hand and foot, as well.

With a heavy sigh, I brace myself.

New people. New home. Totally different state.

A little overwhelming, to say the least.

* * *

**A/N**: This chapter has been edited. :)

Feedback is always welcome!

-Dev.


	4. Chapter 3 - Home Sweet Home

**|Faye|**

Rafe's house looks like it belongs on the cover of a _Martha Stewart _magazine, except I think Martha reserves the cover for herself. The steps to the elongated porch, which extends the length of the house, are wide enough that we can all walk up together..._with _our luggage. The big, black door has a window on the top half covered by a small curtain on the inside with little blue flowers. They're slightly open and I unsuccessfully try to get a peek inside before Rafe unlocks the door and lets us all in.

The house is beautiful and decorated exquisitely. The fragrance filling the room is just the right scent of flowers. Clean, not overwhelming. The like-something-out-of-a-magazine theme continues with the elegant furniture places throughout the foyer. I want to ask Rafe if he decorated the house himself, or if he had a professional do it, but I think that might sound rude, so I don't. At least, not while my Mom is present.

"Well, here we are. Would you two like to see your rooms? Then I can give you a tour of the house, if you'd like," Rafe asks as I nervously stumble to set my luggage down.

"That sounds fine, honey. What d'you think, Faye?" Mom turns just as she's asking, and I think she's trying to catch me before I drop my bags and possibly disturb the room.

_Too late._

The wheels of my suitcase catch and flip the corner of the rug, and my duffel bag knocks a few pillows off the couch. Rafe catches a falling vase and I freeze. _Shit, shit, shit._

Rafe smiles, however, and places the vase back on the end table. "I should've let it break, to be honest. I've never liked this piece," he whispers to me with a crooked smile. Despite myself, I smile back as relief floods my body. I may not be this guy's biggest fan at the moment, but the last thing I want to do is destroy his home.

"My room, yeah, that'd be great. Thanks," I say politely as I clumsily pick up the pillows and straighten the rug. I watch for Mom's reaction to my disturbance of the perfection of the room. She doesn't seem upset in the least, however. In fact, she joins me in picking up the last pillow and gives Rafe a teasing nudge at his not-so-subtle comment.

Rafe leads the two of us up to a huge, open loft with floor-to-ceiling window on two opposing walls. There are no curtains or blinds on the windows, but it's getting dark and I can't really see what's out there. There is beautiful designer furniture filling the room, and an impressive media wall.

The most impressive feature in the room, a wall made entirely of built-in bookshelves, catches my eye and makes my heart leap. There are books and perfectly placed vases and picture frames with people I don't know stylishly placed on each shelf. I'm in heaven at the idea of spending hours reading selections from this library.

Mom and I follow Rafe down a short hall to the only room on the second floor. It's, like the rest of the house, absolutely beautiful. My room in the carriage-house apartment back in Charleston was small — big enough for only a single bed, a tall five-drawer dresser, and small desk. The chair to the desk barely fit between the bed and the desk itself, and the closet door never closed completely.

This room is _huge._

There's a white, four-poster queen-size bed with beautiful white bedding with blue flowers and green accents. The windows that face the front of the house are fitted with curtains that coordinate with the bedding perfectly. There is a white desk with a pale blue chair on one wall, and a wide dressed with six drawers and a mirror hanging above it, all also white, on the opposite wall. The room is painted the perfect shade of pale blue, although it probably has a trendier name. I imagine it's called something like _Pacific Ice_.

Unfortunately, I love everything about this room.

_Damn it. _I've been hoping to find reasons to detest the move here even more, but so far have yet to find any.

"Oh, Rafe," Mom sighs, gazing about the room in awe. "It turned out better than I thought it would!"

I eye my mother curiously. "What are you talking about?" I question aloud, voicing my thoughts. Her face suddenly flushes a pretty pink hue, and she smiles while exchanging knowing glances with Rafe. My eyes flicker to-and-fro between the two, wondering just what the hell they are communicating silently with each other about.

"I made some calls, and had a friend come up from Seattle to decorate," Rafe finally explains, gesturing in some arbitrary direction within the room. "Your mom thought that it might-"

"This was _not _my idea," Mom interjects, shaking her head and smiling. "I'm giving credit where credit is due."

Rafe clears his throat then, casting me an awkward, lopsided grin. "I hope you like it, Faye. It's all yours. The closet is there, and the bathroom is the door next to it," he informs me as he points to a door with a little porcelain sign on it that reads, '_The Toilet' _in pretty script.

"It's great. All of it," I say begrudgingly, forcing a smile.

"So, are you two hungry?" he wonders aloud, no doubt just as desperate as I am to change the topic. _Thank God._ "I can whip us up something, or we can order out..."

"What about that burger place over in Forks?" Mom wonders aloud. "The one we ate at."

"Okay, then. I can run out and pick us up something. Any requests?"

"I'll just go with you," Mom offers, smiling warmly. "I can order for Faye and myself. A double with everything, right, sweetie?"

"No—"

"—onions or pickles," we finish in unison, laughing.

"With a medium order of fries and a chocolate milkshake to finish it off," she adds. After I confirm my order, both adults excuse themselves.

I survey the bathroom and closet; both are a good size. I'm sure I don't have enough toiletries or clothes to fill either space. I unpack, putting delicates in the smaller drawers at the top of the dresser and quasi folding my other clothes into the rest of the drawers. I don't really have a lot to hang in the closet; it looks sparse even after I'm done hanging items I don't usually bother with hanging. I put my suitcases in the closet and decide to take a shower before dinner. It'll save me time later, and I can use the time in the shower to relax and unwind.

* * *

I'm tired, but don't sleep very well. My eyes open in the early hours of the morning to sterile gray light. I toss around in vain, wanting to go back to sleep and wish myself into a pleasant dream. Instead, I simply watch as the darkness of early morning transforms from dark blues to oranges and, finally, of bright light splaying through the crack in the curtains. When I see the alarm clock reads 8:30 AM, I give up and pull myself out of bed.

I took a shower last night, so I _could _get dressed, but I want to leave Dad's t-shirt on a bit longer.

I pull my shoulder-length dark hair into a ponytail, make my bed, and exit the room. Before I reach the stairs I finally see what is beyond the windows in the loft and I can't believe my eyes. _It's like a dream. _Not like the kind I have, but the kind that causes you to actually look _forward _to sleep. Rafe's house sits at a perfect distance from a small pond, separated only by a few dozen or so deliberately placed trees, with an equally perfect flagstone path cutting between them from the house to a dock that extends our over the water.

I approach the window in an attempt to get an even better view. As I step forward I see that it is just as breathtaking as my first look; I'm overwhelmed by this amazing twist of fate. This could, quite possibly, be a place that I might feel true peace.

Looking down from the window, I see there's a patio, or because it's so big maybe it qualifies as a courtyard. I hadn't taken enough notice last night during dinner to see which doors lead to this outdoor space, but I'm assuming it's off the kitchen. Mom and Rafe are currently at the table eating breakfast, so I redirect myself to join them.

My exploration of the wall of books will have to wait until later.

When I amble into the kitchen, Rafe has come inside to refill their coffee mugs, still in his pajamas: a t-shirt and lounge pants. It is in this small commonality that I take one small step forward in feeling somewhat at ease here. "Good morning, Faye," he greets me amicably.

"Morning," I say in as chipper a tone as I can muster.

"Can I get you some breakfast? We've got eggs, bacon, fruit... Anything sound good?"

"Actually, I'll take a pop-tart... Or some toast," I say simply, shrugging. I've never been one to eat much in the morning.

"Got 'em. Strawberry or cherry?" he questions, having already meeting my first need.

"Um... Strawberry. Thanks."

"Your mom is out on the patio. Go ahead out," he points to the French doors I didn't notice last night. "I'll bring your breakfast out in a minute. Would you like some coffee or orange juice?"

"Orange juice," I say as I pull open the doors to the patio. The view is just as magnificent from here as it was from upstairs. There's a beautiful breeze blowing that rustles the leaves in the nearby trees. I love the sound.

Mom sits with her back to the doors, facing the water, reading the newspaper. Though living in a small place like La Push, I can't help but wonder what there is to report about. She must have heard me answer Rafe, though, as I opened the doors because she addresses me directly.

"Good morning, sweetie," she greets me warmly. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like a rock," I lie.

"That's great!" She folds the paper halfway down toward her chest so that she can see me properly. The big, black letters printed across the top of the front page reads: **_The Seattle Gazette_**_. _"Oh, Faye... Isn't this view just spectacular?"

"Yeah, it really is."

It's nearly impossible not to notice how at _home _my mother already seems here. I admire her as she takes in her surroundings for a moment, not overlooking the natural glow that she's emitting. With her dark hair twisted up into a clip, framing her pretty face, she looks utterly beautiful. And she isn't even wearing makeup. She's still dressed in her pajamas, with her slippers adorning her feet.

Rafe rejoins us a few moments later, bringing everything out on a silver tray. He and my mother share goofy grins as the latter accepts her refilled coffee mug, and try my best to divert my attention elsewhere for the time being. I feel as though I'm intruding and, quite honestly, it stings to see that fond smile on my mother's face, knowing that my father isn't the one who's causing it.

"So, Faye, what would you like to do today?" he wonders aloud, bringing his gaze to meet me.

"Oh, well... I'm not really sure. You've got a pretty impressive library up there. Would you mind if I borrow a book?" I honestly don't feel like going anywhere. There will be plenty of time for exploring later; I've got nothing but time.

"Help yourself. It's your library now, too. You can read anything up there. Although I doubt you'll find the computer programming manuals very interesting." Rafe seems _different _this morning; he's lighthearted and open. Our conversation isn't feeling forced, like it has in the past.

_This is the real Rafe, _ I suddenly realize. And I'm not quite sure how I feel about that.

* * *

With nothing but time on my hands, I excuse myself to wander the house, exploring.

The furniture is all so beautiful and perfectly designed. It isn't a hodge-podge of mismatched thrift store furniture, like I've been expecting. Everything is so well thought out, so strategically placed. Two light-blue wingback chairs are flawlessly flanked with their back to the front window so the view is unobstructed when you sit on the brown, tufted couch facing them. I sit there a moment, feeling the soft material of the couch, looking at the view of the trees and landscaping on the other side of the circular driveway, lost in the silence, watching the leaves rustling in the wind.

I have to force myself to break my gaze. I go upstairs with the intention of choosing a new book, but once there I decide it would be unfair not to finish the current book I'm reading first. So, I find what will become my permanent reading spot in the oversize celery green chair facing the wall of windows and open up to the page where I left off and begin to read.

* * *

**A/N**: So, I know that not a lot happens in this chapter. But I want to flesh out my OC's more - make them more realistic and likable. :)

I hope you're enjoying the story! Feedback is always awesome, and _very _much appreciated!

Hope you all have an awesome week!

-Dev.  
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